Chapter 2

The movers bustled back and forth, slowly emptying the apartment piece by piece.

It was only then that I realized something startling. After three years of dating, the traces of Francesco in this place were pitifully scarce.

There was only a pair of dust-covered slippers and a single glass he used. That was it.

Even those two items had been bought by me. He had never given me a single decent gift.

When Nicole moved, he had meticulously prepared a housewarming present. On her birthday, he showed up at her door with a massive bouquet of her favorite white roses.

But with me, he always used the same excuse. "These superficial rituals are meaningless. What matters most is that we're together."

I had questioned him and shown my frustration before, but he always argued back righteously. "I'm only good to Nicole because she's your sister."

I let out a self-deprecating laugh. Just then, my phone rang. It was my mother.

"My sweet girl, have you and Francesco finalized the wedding plans yet?" she asked.

Not long ago, Francesco and I had met each other's parents, and both families were incredibly pleased.

We had intended to lock down a wedding date, but he claimed he was too caught up in family business and suggested postponing it.

Though I was deeply disappointed at the time, I tried to be understanding of his family obligations. Looking back now, I felt nothing but relief.

If a man couldn't even remember which floor I lived on, what would marriage be like? Would I have to spend the rest of my life waiting around alone, silently enduring it all?

"Mom, the wedding is off," I said. "We broke up."

My mother's tone grew tense instantly. "What happened? Did he do something to hurt you?"

"No. I just gradually realized that we aren't right for each other."

Silence stretched over the line.

Everyone knew just how desperately I loved Francesco. We had been together for three years, and I had adored him every single day of it.

My mother knew, my sister Nicole knew, and Francesco knew it best of all.

In the beginning, I was the one who actively pursued him.

To get closer to him, I went to concerts of bands he liked, read books in his field of study, and even signed up at his gym just to create accidental run-ins.

After graduation, I turned down a highly recommended position from my advisor without a second thought. I packed my bags and rushed to the city where he lived.

My mother had been so furious back then that she refused to speak to me for three days. Yet, I had told her firmly that if I missed out on him, I would regret it for the rest of my life.

Even Nicole had mocked my lack of resolve back then. "Ella, you are completely wrapped around his finger."

Nicole and I were biological sisters, bound by blood. I never could have imagined that she would eventually enjoy my boyfriend's special treatment so shamelessly, with absolutely no regard for my feelings.

I glanced at Nicole's newly updated social media feed. It featured a photo of an exquisite candlelit dinner.

The location tag showed the exact restaurant I had spent months researching and longing to visit.

The flickering candlelight paired perfectly with the elegant dishes, and soft piano music drifted in the background.

I had invited Francesco there countless times, but he always brushed me off, claiming he was too busy. Each time, I could only suppress my anticipation.

Yet now, simply because Nicole mentioned she wanted to try it, he brought her there without a moment's hesitation.

As the last piece of furniture was moved out of the apartment, I collapsed onto the bare sofa, utterly exhausted.

I remembered the last time I moved. I had called Francesco for help, but he used his busy schedule as an excuse, saying he couldn't make it but could send someone else.

Frustrated, I refused his offer and stubbornly moved all the luggage by myself. In the end, I aggravated an old injury, leaving my lower back in excruciating pain, and spent two days confined to bed.

But when it was Nicole's turn to move, Francesco deliberately brought a crew over and helped her through the entire process.

"Moving is exhausting and troublesome," he had said at the time. "She's a girl living on her own out here. It's only right that we pitch in and help out."

Watching him hustle back and forth, his clothes soaked through with sweat, I had felt a profound sense of estrangement.

It turned out he wasn't unwilling to put in the time and effort. It was just that his care had never belonged to me.